


Peach Frangipane

by SolarArmageddon



Series: Learning Status [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alpha Kenny McCormick, Alpha Kyle Broflovski, Alpha Token Black, Alpha Wendy Testabuger, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger, Beta Jimmy Valmer, Beta Stan Marsh, Beta Tweek Tweak, Implied Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Jimmy Valmer Being An Asshole, Light Angst, Multi, No Smut, Omega Clyde Donovan, Omega Craig Tucker, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, craig tucker-centric, sorta idk what to tag it as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:29:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22047922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarArmageddon/pseuds/SolarArmageddon
Summary: Craig always knew he'd be an omega—he didn't need a presentation to figure that shit out.
Relationships: Clyde Donovan & Craig Tucker, Kenny McCormick & Wendy Testaburger, Kenny McCormick & Wendy Testaburger & Craig Tucker, Kenny McCormick/Craig Tucker, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh, Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger, Wendy Testaburger & Craig Tucker
Series: Learning Status [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586995
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	Peach Frangipane

**Author's Note:**

> this was just gonna b a long crenny fic but then i realized it would do better as a series esp since i wanted to touch on other characters too sooo,,, series ig

Craig Tucker was nine when he learned to start rejecting touch.

He had always liked to help his friends however could, whether it be by picking them up when they fell down or smoothing a band aid over their knee right after. He was always there, ready to _touch_ —to show his affection in the only way he knew how to—because he knew he was too blunt for most and his words carried bite, though he rarely meant it.

His friends understood that.

They knew Craig Tucker like the back of their hands—knew he was too honest for his own good, too sarcastic one second and too stoic the next. They also knew he was too kind on the inside, having took after his mother, an omega. He had learned how to care before he had learned how to act tough—learned how to make nests for when his little sister was upset and to kiss injuries better no matter who the person was, wiping away their tears if they cried. His mother had taught him how to be an omega before his dad had came in and _ruined it_.

Thomas Tucker was the stereotypical alpha in all ways except _one_ : protectiveness. In fact, he lacked almost all care when it came to their family, being fairly absent from their lives despite the bond mark he and Laura shared. And, though Craig saw him around the house daily, they rarely exchanged glances, let alone _words_.

Thomas would be up and out of the house before Craig woke most days. From work he'd head to the bar or to one of his buddies houses. Regardless, he'd always come back home smelling of booze and _omega_.

Not _his_ omega though. Not the familiar scent of honey in green tea that his mother had rubbed into all his clothing, nor the scent of burnt sugar cookies which belonged to his aunt Mary.

It was never the same scent, though sometimes it was close. If Thomas had had any other kid for an unpresented son, he probably wouldn't have ever known, but he _didn't_ have any other son. He had _Craig_ and Craig's nose was sharp, even without his subgender.

He didn't like what he smelled.

So...he kept his distance, spending all his time learning to do fancy braids for Tricia's hair and helping his mother around the house. Things were just better that way.

His father couldn't have agreed less if he tried.

It took two months of yelling and slaps to the face for Craig to stop showing affection—to stop touching, stop sharing space—around others and another two to learn all the typical alpha mannerisms, reteaching himself how to act around everyone he knew.

Through weeks of _training_ , Thomas stripped Craig of his basic instincts, forcing him to reject the love and affection he so deeply craved—not only to give, but to also receive.

His father taught him how to resist the urge to crawl into his mother's nest after school with Tricia, to stop braiding her hair in the morning and to stop kissing his friend's small scrapes and cuts. Instead, he was taught to go into his room after school and do his work, to let Tricia figure out how to do her own hair and to laugh at his friends until they got back up, slapping them on the back before going back to what they were doing.

He _hated_ it and he hated himself for going along with it. But what was he supposed to do?

In his father's eyes, the only thing worse than having an omega son was having an alpha son that acted like an omega. And Craig wouldn't be an omega—he _couldn't_ be an omega.

* * *

Though you can never know for sure what your subgender will be, there were ways to guess. The way you act, the things you crave—all that stupid shit—can give you a pretty good guess.

Craig was _really_ good at guessing.

Despite the fact that everyone presents at random, most people do so between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. By the time he was fifteen, Craig had guessed all of his friends subgenders correctly and the majority of his other classmates as well.

Token was an alpha through and through, though he was softer around the edges than most, his soft cinnamon scent soothing to even the toughest of alphas in their class. Jimmy and Tweek were betas, something that surprised absolutely nobody. Jimmy smelled of honey and pine needles, an odd combination that took Craig's nose awhile to get used to whereas Tweek's scent felt like _home_ —a mixture of vanilla and caramel. And though male omegas were uncommon, Clyde had been one of the two in their class, (smelling of the fireball candies he swore on his life he hated) the other being _himself_.

Craig was fifteen when he presented, the smell of peach frangipane filling Clyde's room as they lay chest to chest, whispered reassurances falling from his best friend's lips.

He had known it was coming days in advance, his skin touch sensitive and feverish. Clyde had told him all about the symptoms of his first heat and if that wasn't enough of a clue, Token had been all over him whenever they were together, scenting him like crazy because he _didn't smell right_. But..his mother hadn't commented on it until she had found him rummaging through Tricia's drawers for clothes, hoping to start a nest in his closet. Instead of getting upset, she had simply taken the clothes out of her son's hands, placed a kiss on his forehead and let him know she'd make arrangements for him to stay at the Donovan's.

After a nearly a week of nesting with Clyde and rubbing his face in Token's old hoodie, Craig had returned to a home of broken picture frames and a trashed bedroom. The small nest he had started was trashed as well, pieces of clothing ripped beyond repair and their previously soothing scent replaced by the smell of angry alpha. Though his eyes prickled with tears at the sight, his body aching at the smell that was just _wrong wrong wrong_ , he felt relief fill his chest and push down his omega side's hurt—for this meant Craig Tucker could be Craig Tucker once again, not just another stupid fucking _alpha_.

_Not just another Thomas Tucker._

* * *

It only took a week for Craig to get sick and tired of being a newly presented omega.

It's not that he hated his new status—that was about as far from the truth as it could get, considering he rather liked all his new senses—it was just that it came with a few... _minor_ issues.

Minor issues being dumb, meathead alphas that liked to comment on his new scent and ask about his slick (like it was any of their fucking business) and stuck up betas that thought they were better than him for being _normal_ and _common_.

Of course, his whole class just had to be filled with those alphas and betas, right? Because he was never allowed to catch a break.

In fact, Craig could count on one hand the amount of people that hadn't made a jab at him and only _three_ of those people were his friends, the other two being Wendy Testaburger (an equally as rare female alpha) and, surprisingly, Kenny McCormick.

Now, it wasn't so much surprising that Kenny was accepting of his subgender—despite being an alpha himself, he was far from any stereotypical alpha and Craig couldn't be more thankful for that—as it was that he'd approached him after class one day and invited him to lunch up in the library with him and Wendy.

Craig wasn't really sure how or when those two had become so close, but he assumed it had something to do with the amount of times her and Stan had dated. That, or the amount of parties she had been stranded at when Stan had gotten too drunk and had to be taken home by Kyle, who seemed to have an unlimited amount of patience for his dumb fuck best friend (or his future mate, if you asked Craig, because he couldn't see things going any other way).

Regardless, the whole situation was _weird_...

And yet...he still found himself up in the empty library come twelve fifteen, waiting for Kenny and Wendy to show up.

He didn't know why—he had friends and all of them had been supportive except for Jimmy, who he had already known would've been a twat about it, considering how he reacted to Clyde's presentation—but it just felt right to get away from _everyone_. From the still curious alpha eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere now that he smelled pretty, submissive and distinctly _omega_ , regardless of the fact that he felt anything but pretty and submissive—anything but the typical omega. And from the still harsh beta gaze, their jokes holding more weight than they usually would because it wasn't something he could control—this wasn't a joke about his personality or the way he acted, things which he had chosen to show to the world instead of acting like someone he was not. He could handle jokes about things like that, things he chose for _himself_ , but jokes about him being an omega? Jokes about how nobody would want such a foul mouthed, rude omega, especially not when he was a _boy_ and had nothing to offer an alpha—no pups, slick that was messy and useless because he couldn't breed anyways? Those jokes hurt in a way he didn't think they would've. The pitying looks from other omega's he was starting to receive didn't help him either—they were starting to get under his skin, actually.

So yeah, the thought of sitting with two new, accepting people, away from all of those _stupid fucking looks_ —that sounded _good_. It sounded like a fresh breath of fucking _air_.

And maybe that was selfish of him—ditching his friends without notice to hangout with people he hadn't really held a conversation with since the sixth grade—but _fuck_ if it didn't feel so so _right_.


End file.
